


The Meaning of My Life Is

by DoubleL27



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose is Extra, EW Photoshoot, Fluff, Future Fic, Honeymoon, I'm Not Ashamed, M/M, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Romance, Sakura (Cherry Blossoms)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: Once upon a time, his ideal honeymoon had involved private jets and tropical beaches and mansions that you could get lost in. There’s something, though, to having his methodical husband come to him with bright eyes and a slightly wild grin and tell him he had a week to figure out what to pack for the honeymoon they’d agreed they would hold off on until they could actually afford one. His startled gasp and tears had been met with Patrick insisting that Toronto might not be Tokyo but it was better than Elm Glen.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 46
Kudos: 158





	The Meaning of My Life Is

**Author's Note:**

> So...this has been a huge 24 hours. I thought I was going to post a coda to 6.12 today. Instead I was swamped by the EW Photoshoot. This flew out of me and I had to share it. It's been a long time. Thanks to all the people I yelled with all day that allowed this to happen. I love you all. If we haven't yelled yet, yell at me any time.
> 
> Title is from...check out the end notes...

The branches shimmy overhead, dislodging soft pink blossoms that cascade along as if it’s all been choreographed. Dappled sunlight filters through as if through fractal glass softening the little world they carved out on the park bench. David did go to church or to synagog or even necessarily know if any higher power is out there, but staring up at the cathedral ceiling cherry blossoms is as close to a truly religious experience he has ever had.

Patrick’s arm rests along the back of the bench, hand dangling free right above him. It's easy to lift one of his own hands from where it’s pillowed on his stomach and carefully weave his fingers through his husband’s. Patrick only shifts slightly, his thigh coming a little further under David’s head, closer to his neck, his arm sliding down. Hopefully, he’s still reading the book David packed for him, some basic thriller that is just large and floppy enough. 

Once upon a time, his ideal honeymoon had involved private jets and tropical beaches and mansions that you could get lost in. There’s something, though, to having his methodical husband come to him with bright eyes and a slightly wild grin and tell him he had a week to figure out what to pack for the honeymoon they’d agreed they would hold off on until they could actually afford one. His startled gasp and tears had been met with Patrick insisting that Toronto might not be Tokyo but it was better than Elm Valley. 

Patrick was right, David muses but never plans to tell him out loud, watching their fingers and the trees beyond. There was something to the airbnb that made Patrick's place look spacious and the picnic of cheese and wine that didn't require carrying anyone up a mountain for. He almost didn’t mind the tourists that were wandering around, pointing and exclaiming while taking too many pictures. 

Instead, he imagines the triumphant swell of music, Elvis Costello's voice and the panning of the camera, swooping behind them to come around the end where his leg dangles over the bench end and he can pretend the wrought iron isn’t digging into his leg. His wedding rings dance lightly over his stomach, catching the occasional spot of sunlight.

“Are you pretending we’re the ending scene in Notting Hill right now?” Patrick asks, ruining the picture and forcing David to tilt his head back to find his husband’s face. Of course, his eyes are still trained on the page, but David catches a faint wiggle at the corner of his mouth. “Because the only thing you’re possibly pregnant with is cheese.”

“Shhh. They're silent at this point in the film.”

Patrick swivels his head to look down at him, his mouth doing that fond thing where he can somehow smile with the corners tilting down. “Okay, David.”

“Go back to reading your book,” David huffs at him, refusing to move his hands from where they’re strategically placed, even though they itch to wave at him. “I have to start over.”

Laughter spills out before Patrick can stop it and his eyes crinkle fully at the corners. “Start over?”

“Yes, the scene, I need to rewind and start over. Go back to reading please.”

David watches Patrick turn back to his book. Once he’s satisfied that Patrick is properly positioned, he repositions himself so his neck isn’t fully over Patrick’s thigh and he’s looking back up at the trees. 

As soon as he’s settled and ready to start the music in his head, he’s interrupted by Patrick’s dry musing, “I don’t remember cherry blossoms at the end of Notting Hill.”

“It’s called taking creative license,” David snaps, closing his eyes and taking two deep breaths. “This is  _ my _ Notting Hill moment and I  _ will _ have cherry blossoms if I  _ want _ them.”

Suddenly, Patrick’s face is looming over his own. David screws his eyes closed and feels a million feelings run through him. A butterfly light kiss presses to his forehead, and when he opens his eyes, Patrick’s whiskey eyes and smile are all he can see. “I love you, David,” Patrick says in his most earnest voice.

“I hate you,” David whispers, his voice cracking and tears leaking out of his eyes, giving away his lie. Sniffling despite himself, David drags Patrick’s hand down to wipe the tears Julia didn’t cry in the final scene. “And I hate how much I love you.”

“That’s the wrong movie,” Patrick grins.

Perhaps watching Notting Hill as frequently as they do _is_ damaging their relationship if Patrick can call him out this way. He’s created a monster who knows too much. David rolls his eyes and uses his own elbow to bump his husband’s back to the end of the bench. His other hand leaves his stomach and the cheese baby to position it exactly where he wants it. “Go back to your book.” 

Patrick just hums, straightening and resettling back against the bench. David closes his eyes and settles his ringed hand back on his stomach and feels his stomach fill before he blows out the breath. The majestic ceiling of petals stretches above him, light and shadow when he opens his eyes. David lets the music begin to crescendo in his head and imagines the wide-angled pan of the camera around the back of the bench again, coming to find his smiling face. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from She as sung by Elvis Costello over the closing scenes of Notting Hill
> 
> Fic was inspired by this image:


End file.
